Summer Kisses: The Rebel Doctor's Bride. Sarah Morgan
Conner’s response to that?’
‘I don’t know because he lowered his voice but Janet went scarlet.’
Evanna laughed. ‘I don’t suppose there was much call for gynecology in the army. According to Logan, he was dealing with a lot of trauma. Anyway, it’s time we helped him settle in, which is why I’ve invited him to join us for lunch later.’
Flora’s heart bumped hard against her chest. ‘He’s coming to lunch? I thought it was just your family. Logan, Meg and a few others.’
‘Conner is family. I thought it might be a good idea to remind people of that.’
‘Oh.’ Flora concentrated on Kirsty. ‘Well, that’s great. Really nice of you, Evanna. So we should go back to the house. Start getting ready.’ She rose to her feet and picked Kirsty up. ‘Come on, sweetheart. Let’s get the sand off your feet and take you home. Who knows? Your daddy might even be there.’
Conner’s feet echoed on the cracked wooden floorboards and he glanced around him, feeling the memories swirl. The house smelled of damp, but that wasn’t surprising because it had been years since the light and air had been allowed to pour unrestricted through its doors and windows.
He’d always hated this house and nothing had changed. It was as if the walls had absorbed some of the anger and hatred that had been played out in these rooms.
He tried to feel something positive, but there was nothing that wasn’t dark and murky, and he gave a soft curse and strode out of the front door and back into the sunshine, drawing the clear air deep into his lungs.
Just walking into the house had made him feel contaminated.
He shouldn’t have come.
He should have just paid someone to sell the damn place.
Beneath him the sea crashed onto the rocks and he sucked in a breath, drinking in the wildness of it—the savage beauty. Everything about this part of Glenmore was angry. The coast, the sea, the wind, the house …
Him?
Conner stood for a moment, battling with uncomfortable thoughts until some inner sense warned him that he wasn’t alone.
He turned swiftly and saw her.
Flora was standing only metres away from him, the wind lifting her brown curls and blowing them around her face, her expression uncertain.
‘Sorry.’ Her voice faltered and it was obvious that she couldn’t decide whether to stay or retreat. ‘I didn’t mean to disturb you.’
He wished she hadn’t, because he was in no mood for company and his desperate need for isolation fuelled his temper. ‘Then why did you?’
Flora flinched at his directness, but she didn’t retreat. ‘You were supposed to be at Logan and Evanna’s for lunch. We assumed you’d forgotten.’
‘I needed some space.’
‘Oh.’ She took a breath. ‘It’s just that … you didn’t ring or anything.’
‘No.’
‘I was worried.’
‘Why?’ Since when had anyone worried about him?
‘This business with the islanders,’ she shrugged, embarrassed and awkward. ‘It’s horrible. I thought by now they would have accepted you.’
‘It’s not important.’
‘Of course it’s important! Evanna told me that Finn wouldn’t rent you a boat—’
When he didn’t answer, she gazed at him in exasperation. ‘Don’t you care?’
He could feel the blood throbbing in his veins. ‘What are you doing here, Flora?’
‘When you didn’t show up, I thought I’d bring lunch to you.’
It was then that he noticed the basket by her feet. He could see a bowl of strawberries, thick whipped cream and another bowl, this one piled high with bronzed chicken legs. And white and red checked napkins.
A traditional picnic.
It was all so civilised and in such direct contrast to this place and everything he was feeling that he felt his tension levels soar.
He wasn’t feeling civilised. He wasn’t feeling civilised at all.
In fact, he was in an extremely dangerous mood.
‘It’s pretty here,’ she ventured hesitantly, glancing over to the rocks and the tiny beach. ‘This is the only house on the island that has its own private beach.’
‘Flora, if you have any sense, you’ll leave right now.’
Her eyes flew to his. Widened. ‘I’ve made you angry.’
There was something different about her but he couldn’t work out what it was. ‘I was angry before you arrived. I know you mean well, but I don’t wish to take a trip down memory lane and I especially don’t want to do it holding anyone’s hand,’ he said harshly. ‘How did you know where to find me?’
‘I went to your barn first and you weren’t there.’ She captured a strand of hair as it danced in the breeze. ‘And I saw Mrs North picking blackberries in the lane outside and she said she’d seen you coming in this direction.’
Conner’s mood darkened still further. ‘Now I know why they don’t bother with CCTV on Glenmore. They have locals stationed on every street corner.’
‘I shouldn’t have come. I really am sorry.’ Flushed and flustered, Flora lifted the basket and stepped forward. She pushed the basket into his hands, her smile brief and shy. ‘Take it. Evanna is an amazing cook. Her chicken is delicious and the strawberries are freshly picked from the Roberts’ farm. If you’re not hungry now, you can eat it later.’ Without waiting for him to reply, she turned and walked quickly away from him, her long flowery skirt swirling around her body, outlining the soft curve of her hips.
He’d offended her. Or had he frightened her?
Conner watched her for a moment and then looked down at the basket and swore long and fluently. The day was not turning out as he’d planned. He lifted his gaze from the strawberries and stared after her retreating figure with a mixture of exasperation and anger.
He didn’t care that he’d offended her.
He really didn’t care.
It wasn’t as if he’d invited her here. He hadn’t asked her to follow him.
Caught in an internal battle, he opened his mouth to speak, changed his mind and closed it again, then growled with frustration and called out to her. ‘Do you like strawberries?’
She stopped and turned—slowly. ‘Yes. I love them.’
But she didn’t move and even from this distance Conner sensed her wariness and remembered what Logan had said about her being shy.
‘Good. Because there’s a large bowlful in this basket and I hate them.’ He dumped the basket on the ground and looked at her expectantly, but she still didn’t move.
‘Just eat the chicken, then.’
Realising that she wasn’t going to walk to him, he strolled towards her and suddenly saw what was different about her. ‘You’re not wearing your glasses.’
She lifted a hand to her cheek and shrugged self-consciously. ‘Contact lenses. I don’t usually wear them at work. I’m not a morning person and I’m never awake enough to risk putting my fingers into my eyes.’ She looked over his shoulder at the basket, which now lay abandoned on the soft grass. ‘I can take the strawberries with me, if they offend you that much.’
‘Or you can sit down and eat them here.’
Her